


Soap Bubble Moments

by Sar_Kalu



Series: Good Omens Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocawasn't, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, soft fluffy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 21:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19753897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sar_Kalu/pseuds/Sar_Kalu
Summary: Soft warm moments post-apocalypse, pre-body-swap; a bubble bath fic...Aziraphale awakes in Crowley's flat and contemplates his brand new world





	Soap Bubble Moments

**Author's Note:**

> No trigger warnings (that I am aware of) apply. :)

Aziraphale awoke, something in and of itself to be a rare phenomena, and lay quiescent in a cocoon of thick down filled blankets and soft cotton sheets. Light, golden and warm, streamed through clear glass windows and high above arched an endless blue sky that promised a beautiful day. Cushioned in decadence, Aziraphale’s eyes slipped half closed, resplendent and replete with that feeling of not being fully awake, of safety and warmth, a smile turning half-asleep lips upwards in unconscious delight.

Blinking slow and soft, Aziraphale twisted onto his back and stared up at the slate grey ceiling: he was in Crowley’s ultra modern flat, the shadows that lurked in corners softer now in the late morning light and patterns of light and air danced upon the walls. Aziraphale sighed, relaxing back into the well worn sheets and a mattress that felt more akin to what human children imagined clouds to be like; soft and inviting and giving beneath the rounded planes of his body. 

Aziraphale raised a hand, taking a moment to soak in the sight of light caressing his skin, and he smiled. Yesterday, the world had nearly ended; today, it felt like the world could continue forever. Or perhaps, Aziraphale thought with an expression edged with mischievousness as he turned onto his side to stare at his companion who lay curled up ball tight beneath the duvet beside him, it was this moment, here and now, that felt like it could stretch out soap bubble thin and beautifully resplendent with all the colours of the rainbow.

There was something about his face, Aziraphale ached to think, narrow features that should not press together so handsomely and yet were dearer to the angel than his own life. Tufts of russet hair stuck up every which way, less organised chaos and more tangled from restless dead sleep. Lips slack and open, a thin line of drool stringing from the lower corner to drip indolently upon his pillow. A neck, Aziraphale knew to be long and thin and strong - swanlike in its arching grace, that hid beneath crowded narrow shoulders that rounded out into the slope of a long narrow back and legs that were longer still, strong and confident despite their appearance of not entirely knowing how to behave; as though they remembered once, being pressed into a tube of muscle and slithering across the floor better than they remembered their last six thousand years of use with feet attached at their ends. 

Crowley shivered as Aziraphale raised up onto his elbow, looking down upon the softly sleeping demon, the sheets drawn about his ears sliding down about his upper back; and Aziraphale reached out gently, gently so as not to disturb and drew the linens back up, hand trailing smoothly across sleep-warm flesh and the constant rise and fall of Crowley’s chest. 

“God you’re beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered to the demon, a prayer that slipped from between numb lips, stunned by the words they were allowed to speak; it felt more sacred than the cantrips Aziraphale had learnt as a young angel in Heaven, more sublime than a Romanticists poetry, more real than truth told at midnight in the dark between friends and lovers both. This was Aziraphale’s truth and he ached for wanting, for desiring, for wishing he could have, could touch, could smooth his rounded shapes into Crowley’s angular lines; that he could bring them together in ways that the demon would never allow. 

Aziraphale hovered a hand above the strong unbroken line of Crowley’s jaw, wishing desperately to curve his fingers underneath, to tilt that head back, and press his lips to those lips, to know their velvet plushness, to know their curve against his own as the demon smiled and sneered, to understand that which he had no words for. Six thousands years stretched out, reached into this single moment, and Aziraphale had never felt so far removed from Crowley than in this space; the gap of six inches felt far wider to bridge than six thousand years of knowing, fearing, loving, aching, desiring…

Aziraphale’s hand sank back, something heavy and tight in his chest that tasted strongly of ashen defeat, “I love you,” Aziraphale mouthed the words, eyes skating over beloved features; taking in the tiny blemishes that time had wrought on thin human skin, the stamp of age and mirth at the corners of his eyes, his mouth. “I love you,” Aziraphale repeated soundlessly, a secret held deep within his heart, unvoiced yet by sound, but told constantly, insistently, within the corners of his mind.

A hand reached out, grasping Aziraphale’s own and holding it fast above the once-sleeping serpent, and pulled Aziraphale’s palm down until it connected with lightning intensity to Crowley’s angular jaw, cupping the demons angular face gently. Aziraphale could feel the flutter of a pulse beneath his fingers, the roughness of day old stubble, warmth, and life, and such beautiful complexity of human skin wrapped tightly around a seething demonic package that bubbled at a low murmur, curiosity rather than offence being the flavour of the morning.

“Good morning, angel,” Crowley rasped in a voice that spoke of having just woken up, of softness learned, of warmth as he smiled up at Aziraphale, yellow eyes burning gold in the sunlight that shone through the window.

Aziraphale’s fingers flexed against the smooth-rough skin-and-stubble of Crowley’s jaw, felt the hard bone beneath giving skin, and wondered at this turn of events. Crowley’s hand was warm over his, holding him in place. “Morning,” Aziraphale whispered, breathless even as his lips turned upwards into a smile that shone nearly as bright as his eyes, “we stopped the apocalypse yesterday,” Aziraphale told Crowley inanely, more for something to say, the moment stretching wire tight between them, barrelling towards an end that he could see, but felt rather like watching a car crash, or standing above a cliff with the ocean raging dark and violent far below.

Crowley’s eyes crinkled with his own smile that was gentle and calm; not mocking at all, there was no twist of lips that spoke of his humour at Aziraphale’s expense, or the expense of the people around him. No, this smile radiated peace in a way that Aziraphale hadn’t seen in a very long time and Aziraphale felt, as he had before, that Earth and her experiences had hardened Crowley in ways that the Fall hadn’t entirely managed to; and Aziraphale very definitely wished to blur those lines, to smooth away those sharp edges, to make a home for himself within that battered, beating heart. 

They stared at each other for long, heady moments; Aziraphale cupping Crowley’s face, Crowley gently holding Aziraphale’s hand in place… 

Aziraphale ducked his head first, his hand twitching as if to leave its position over Crowley’s jaw; and panic flickered sharp and painful over Crowley’s face, eyes widening as if fearing this moment was ending. A cloud passed over the sun, casting the room in shadow and it felt as though all the warmth had evaporated from their skin. Aziraphale’s heart felt like it was winging desperately against the confines of his sternum, beating bloody fists as if to escape and land safely within Crowley’s strong, assured hands that gifted kindness more than they did cruelty.

Aziraphale twitched, the ache within him rising like a operatic crescendo; and his hand firmed about Crowley’s jaw, taking the demon by surprise. Desperation makes fools of us all and Aziraphale leant in close to Crowley, eyes clashing with eyes, hope a rabid beast in his chest.

“Kiss me,” Aziraphale whispered hoarsely, fear turning his voice ragged.

There was a moment, a beat, when Aziraphale thought Crowley wouldn’t; that the demon would swing from the bed in disgust and leave the apartment and Aziraphale behind. Yellow eyes seemed uncertain, less bravado and more shock; but then the words registered, as did Aziraphale’s closeness.

It was as though someone had lit a fire in Crowley’s eyes. They shone, no, burned brightly with emotions that shifted so rapidly that Aziraphale couldn’t name them even if he’d slowed down time and had a magnifying glass. 

Then Crowley’s lips were pressed inelegantly against Aziraphale’s lips, the angle making for an awkward first touch… but then Aziraphale had turned his body, had pushed over Crowley, the demon supine on his back, hands trailing hot over Aziraphale’s lower back, while Aziraphale’s arms trembled as they held him him up even as they pressed him down. Sheets tangled about their legs and it was as though they were washed with white hot glorious heat, the sun shining down from above in benediction, softness enclosing them, and Aziraphale drew back, having forgotten how to breathe, and stared in awe at Crowley’s expression, that bled gentle his love for the angel high above him.

“Beautiful,” Crowley whispered, eyes shining with unfilled tears, emotions long pent up now crashing wildly with their release, “you’re beautiful, angel, _my_ angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to lightningoceans prompt: "prompt to force you to write something NICE: a hoarse whisper, „kiss me“". 
> 
> Come chat on [tumblr with me](https://sar-kalu.tumblr.com/)


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